


Face to Face

by fawatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:04:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-novel, Andrew comes face to face with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inabathrobe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabathrobe/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them. 
> 
> **Request:**  
>  Andrew Raynes: An ending for Andrew. What is it like for him to have to keep living with the sort of self-knowledge he has at the end of the novel?
> 
> In my id heart of hearts, I would love a fix-it fic of some sort, no matter how implausible we both know that is. I'd also be happy to just know how Andrew dies in the war. Or perhaps neither? Show me what his life post-Laurie is like. Does he meet someone else? Does he wish he'd done something else? Does he die in the London blitz? Or some more unseemly way?
> 
> The nitty-gritty: I ship Andrew/Laurie. No pressure to actually write it for me if you don't ship it; I would happily read an Andrew-centric fic that was Laurie/Ralph (perhaps, a fic about Andrew coming to terms with that?) or a gen fic or even Andrew/OC.
> 
> Please be generous with Andrew. Yes, he is a selfish prig of a nineteen-year-old, but he's gone through a hell of a lot by nineteen, and I rather love him just the way he is. Not that I think you would be so crass, but please don't write me fic about how terrible you think Andrew is as a character.
> 
>  **Author’s Notes:**
> 
> (a) The Royal Free Hospital (commonly known as the ‘Royal Free’) was founded in 1828 and, during the time when this story is set, was located at 123 Gray’s Inn Road.

He knew what first drew his notice to Dr Reid: that pale hair stood out. Andrew remembered seeing the new doctor in the Royal Free’s casualty department as a medical student on rounds at the EMS hospital in Bridstow. When introduced, he chose not to let Dr Reid know they’d met before; but a week later one of the other orderlies mentioned Andrew had been at Bridstow at the same time Dr Reid would have been completing his training there. He half expected Dr Reid to say something, and when he didn’t, reminded himself of the vast social gulf between orderlies and medical staff, quite apart from potential distrust because he was a conscientious objector. Not that that seemed to mean as much now. The Friend’s Ambulance Service and all the practical help C.O.s had been providing in hospitals over the last three years had earned them all a certain respect. Dr Reid continued to say nothing and Andrew decided he must not recall the connection, which, it had to be admitted, was tenuous. After all, Andrew had not remained at the EMS very long.

Seeing Dr Reid brought back other memories from three years ago. There had been considerable camaraderie amongst the C.O.s at Bridstow which was missing in this large London hospital. He had also developed a healthy respect for how the nurses coped with the conditions there: living in a drafty ward hastily converted for their use, with no hope of privacy, chronically short-staffed, and utterly unappreciated by the doctors who barked orders without ever fully realising how difficult it might be to carry them out (and never a word of thanks). Some of the patients had been stiff when the C.O.s first arrived; but the overworked nurses had greeted them with relief and gratitude. He had made friends there in a way he simply had not at this hospital, where the facilities were better and the nurses seemed to keep more to themselves. 

And, of course, seeing Dr Reid reminded Andrew of Laurie. How could it not? They had written to one another erratically in the intervening years. Andrew remembered the mixed feelings when he had received Laurie’s first letter: his relief to learn that horrid little man had not been Laurie’s friend, followed by his disappointed realisation Laurie was nonetheless involved in that kind of relationship. He had struggled with the decision whether or not to reply, in the end (after several weeks) _had_ , but the easy friendship he had felt previously had never fully returned. 

It was not simply a matter of distance. Andrew had prayed a lot; but for once prayer brought no answers, only more questions about his own feelings. Laurie seemed happy, which raised more questions for him. Not that Andrew wanted him to be _unhappy_. It was simply confusing. God created Eve for Adam, not another Adam. There was the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. He wasn’t someone to take the Bible literally; few Friends were. But his reading of scripture suggested homosexuality was _wrong._

Yet Laurie, who had impressed him as a decent and moral person, according to his lights, as well as kind, was involved with it. Not always _right_ but there was no malice in him and while he might, like everyone, occasionally make wrong choices, he was not the kind of person to knowingly sin. In Andrew’s world, sin did not lead to peace of mind. Laurie’s letters radiated contentment. There was no doubt he was busy with war work; Laurie continued to get pain from his leg which was sometimes better but never seemed to _stay_ better; there was no doubt he missed his friend (even in his mind Andrew shied away from calling him a lover); when his ship was away on patrol; and he had been frank about his worry when Ralph drank that bit too much (though Andrew hadn’t heard anything like that for quite some time, so maybe it wasn’t a current problem). But nonetheless there was also no denying he felt he had made the right choice. ‘Wages of sin’ this was not. 

Normally Andrew took his doubts to Dave; but he was strangely reluctant with this one, though exactly why he could not say. Dave had never said anything against Laurie but Andrew had a sense he disapproved of their correspondence. So for the first time he did not ask advice and instead simply buried himself in work. 

The Blitz made that easy and once the bombing reduced and there seemed less call for emergency work on the streets of London, he found himself at the Royal Free, with new routines and different work to learn, which also helped. He made new friends, not all of them Friends. He met Judy, who helped run the canteen. They went to a few shows together after work and shared a few kisses; but when she took him home to meet her parents he knew it wouldn’t work. Her father had been wounded at the third battle of Ypres in 1917, and made his disapproval known of Andrew’s civilian status. It came as a bit of a shock after the respect he’d been shown at the hospital. It seemed Judy realised the difficulties too and the relationship (it couldn’t really be called a romance) cooled. Fairly soon afterward Judy was seen walking out with an able seaman from the naval trawler _Meror_ and a few weeks later they announced their engagement. The fact the engagement was short-lived (the _Meror_ hit a mine in the North Sea and sank with all hands a few months later) did not change things. Of course she was in mourning at first; but it was not just that. ‘There is nothing so cold as old porridge’ he remembered his aunt saying apropos a neighbour’s unhappy love affair; it was very true. 

People around him paired off, and he found himself invited to engagement parties. But to Andrew those romances often seemed unlikely. War brought people together who might otherwise not have met, but marriage was for life, not just the duration. Andrew decided wartime wasn’t really conducive to making sensible decisions about who to spend the rest of your life with and pushed firmly into the back of his mind his growing awareness that, unlike others round him, he did not feel the same kind of attraction to anyone. He was tired. He worked too hard and was tired. That was all.

Seeing Dr Reid reminded Andrew of uncomfortable things, which made him feel rather awkward, at first. However, that feeling passed fairly soon. The casualty department had been short-staffed with doctors working double shifts. The extra pair of hands, even of a junior doctor (when it was really an experienced consultant who was wanted) were sorely needed and much appreciated, particularly since Dr Reid was really a very agreeable chap. Routines shifted and settled again round the additional help and the working life of a busy London hospital went on as usual. 

That changed on Monday. The first ambulance to arrive brought news of more casualties to come. An unexploded bomb had been found buried in some rubble beside Clerkenwell St. No one had realised there were two; in making the first safe something had dislodged the second which went off _outside_ the section cordoned off for safety. Andrew helped with moving patients off casualty up to wards in preparation for the incoming flood of victims, and took triage trays to the supply cupboard to restock them with bandages. As the wounded began to arrive he helped direct them as he was asked by the nurses and doctors. Out of the corner of one eye he could see Judy with her trolley providing cups of sweet tea to those who were shocked and disoriented but not really injured, normally family to the ones the doctors were treating.

Dave was one of the last victims brought in: crushed when a wall fell on him as he was trying to free an old woman from debris. Andrew had taken a patient up to theatre; one of the nurses was waiting by the lift when he returned and took him to bay five where Dr Reid was reapplying a pressure bandage to one leg. Dave looked positively grey but his eyelids flickered open and he stared straight at Andrew who moved swiftly to his side. 

“Bertie,” Dave moaned and his hand flexed slightly. 

Andrew clasped it firmly, and said, “It’s Andrew; I’m here, Dave.”

But Dave didn’t seem fully aware and simply repeated ‘Bertie’ over and over, in a fading voice. 

Andrew stood awkwardly, aware there could be no hope. Even though he was just an orderly, he’d had enough experience to tell. Nonetheless, he caught Dr Reid’s eye and when the doctor came over, asked in a whisper. He was not surprised when Dr Reid shook his head, before leaving them alone. 

Andrew sat in the chair by the bed holding Dave’s hand. He wasn’t sure if he even knew someone was there; but it was the right thing to do. Dave had always been there for him; the least he could do was stay with him. No one should die alone. He was there several hours; his left foot went to sleep. Periodically a nurse came in and checked Dave’s pulse; but shallow though his breath became, still he lived. Once or twice his eyes flickered open and he called Andrew by his father’s name. Andrew didn’t correct him, simply said, “I am here.” He remembered how Laurie had wanted to pretend when Charlot was dying. This _was_ different, of course; it was not as if he were deliberately pretending, and it was not a matter of faith. Besides, events of the last three years had taught him decisions were not always simple and ethics could be grey. Nonetheless, he was not sure Dave would have agreed; he always seemed so sure what was right, although tolerant of Andrew’s uncertainties. 

Dave opened his eyes once more, looked at Andrew and smiled slightly as he exhaled Bertie’s name. He did not inhale again. Andrew sat, still holding his hand as the tears quietly slipped down his face. Presently a nurse came in, realised what had happened and called Dr Reid who confirmed death. 

He was, of course, in shock. At some level he knew that even though he was doing his best to sound rational, he wasn’t really taking everything in. Dr Reid was going off shift and said he would see him home. On the way he was asked if he lived alone. 

“No, no,” he assured. “A group of us share.” 

He truly did expect someone to be there but in fact the house was empty and silent. Dr Reid refused just to leave him, so Andrew took him through to the kitchen. It was the note from Dave on the work-worn beech table which brought home the enormity of the day’s events home. Andrew stopped short, attention fixed on that note; and it was his companion who pulled out a chair for him to sit, pulled across the blackout curtain. 

“Here, you must eat something.” 

Andrew surfaced from his reverie to find Dr Reid holding out a small plate with two slices of toast with a scraping of jam and a mug of cocoa. 

“Sorry; I didn’t mean to be a bother.” After a pause he added, “Dr. Reid you really mustn’t feel you have to stay.”

“Call me Sandy,” said the doctor, “and there is no need to apologise. Of course I will stay, at least until your friends are back. No–” he waved away Andrew’s automatic polite protest. “You would do the same for me.” 

He fixed himself a cup of tea before taking another chair at the table. “Tell me about Dave,” he asked. “How did you know him?”

And Andrew found himself talking compulsively, explaining how his parents had died and Dave had supported him when his aunt and uncle had rejected him. Sandy was a good listener and Andrew found himself telling more than he ever would have imagined he’d say to a man who was little more than a stranger. He said as much. 

“But of course, we are not total strangers,” said Sandy gently, “even if we have not been best friends. After all, we have worked together for several months.” 

“And I remember you from Bridstow,” blurted out Andrew, feeling now guilty that he had not said anything when Sandy first joined the Royal Free. 

“And we ‘almost’ met in Bridstow,” calmly agreed Sandy. 

“You knew?” Andrew sounded surprised. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Did you want me to?” replied Sandy. “I didn’t think you wanted to be reminded it didn’t work out between you and Laurie.” 

Now Andrew was truly astonished. He took a deep breath, then swallowed hard as his gorge rose, and thought the better of saying anything.

“Oh dear,” said Sandy. “You didn’t mean that at all, did you?” 

There was a long, exceedingly uncomfortable, pause. In the end Andrew simply shook his head. 

“And I have put my foot in it. I am truly sorry.” 

Another person Andrew might not have believed; but Sandy he did. Granted Sandy was only a junior doctor and they always tended to be more human than the consultants; but even so he was the least arrogant doctor Andrew had ever met. Besides, he seemed genuinely sympathetic, and he had been kind enough to shepherd Andrew home. 

“Now is definitely not the time for discussion.”

Andrew again shook his head, relieved at Sandy’s tact, also relieved because he could hear the front door open. A few moments later Tom entered the kitchen, and in the ensuing introductions plus explanations of why Sandy was there, Andrew could almost pretend he had not heard what Sandy said about Laurie and him. Almost but not quite.


	2. Chapter 2

It was another party for yet another engagement. By now Andrew had come to see them for what they were: an excuse rather than a reason. This was turning out to be a long war; and even if things were going rather better for the Allies than they had at the beginning, people needed some relief from the tension of worrying about friends and family and the daily grind – and grind it was – of rationing and hard work. 

This time it was Nurse Perry who was going to become Mrs Turner; so of course, there was a celebration before she left hospital. The actual ceremony would be in her home town in a couple of days, too far for any of her work friends to attend, so there was a jovial and utterly irreverent ‘wedding ceremony’ conducted by Sandy, complete with the requisite jokes, followed by dancing, which Andrew knew from experience would go on to dawn. Not everyone would stay that long; but there were always a few die-hards at every such party. Some would be nursing sore heads tomorrow.

The first time Andrew attended one of these he had been shocked. However, by now he had attended enough to know what to expect. The first time he saw a mock wedding he’d found it a little distasteful. However he’d come gradually to understand it was all meant in fun; and if the churches whose ceremonies it mocked were not offended, who was he as a Friend to be offended on their behalf? Sandy was often asked to ‘officiate’. The first time he did it, he’d quipped that his mother would be pleased as she’d been disappointed he became a doctor when she wanted him to be a minister. The idea anyone would not want their son to be a doctor was greeted with hilarity, as could be expected by hospital staff; but it was a tidbit of information about Sandy that Andrew filed away for future consideration, along with all the other little anomalies he’d been noticing since Dave died. As always, Sandy made a good job of ‘marrying’ the happy couple, with all the right jokes and appropriate pauses in all the right places, very mild innuendo, but nothing too much. Sandy could imagine even his aunt, a pillar of rectitude in her community, smiling with approval as he finished the ceremony with a flourish. 

Andrew stayed the requisite half hour or so after the couple were ‘married’ and then made his farewells. He’d learned the hard way not to stay much past this as these parties could become a ‘hunting ground’ for people who wanted to pair off. That was how it was explained to him after one by Sister (who, middle-aged and happily married, took it upon herself to extricate him from an awkward situation the first time he attended one of these events). She had advised him to leave early in future, explaining there would always be a group who departed as soon as it was polite to do so and no one would remark or think any the less of him if he left then too. In the ensuing year he had taken care always to follow her advice. He’d noticed Sandy always left then too. Since the night Dave died he now realised why. 

He was past the corner and nearing the underground when Sandy caught up to him and suggested they go for a drink. 

“I know a pub not far from here,” said Sandy. 

Andrew ventured to explain he was not really one for pubs, finding them smoky and noisy and full of people made obnoxious by drink. 

“This one is quieter than most, and not one where people who are not locals will be remarked on,” Sandy said. 

It was on the tip of Andrew’s tongue to refuse, yet he found himself accepting the invitation. The engagement party had been in a flat off Tottenham Court Road; the streets were full of revellers, as was always the case given the proximity to theatres. Sandy headed in the opposite direction and led him to a pub not far from the British Museum, which was by no means empty, but hardly crowded in the way one would be that was further south. It seemed the Elgin Marbles – especially after closing hour – did not have the same draw as a show. Sandy found them a corner table near a wall and went to get drinks. 

Andrew watched as Sandy was given priority service. He seemed to know the barman; Andrew wondered if that meant he was one of _them_ and he looked round at the rest of the patrons wondering if this was what a queer bar looked like. 

But when Sandy returned, and he asked, the man seemed very amused. 

“No, the scene is nothing like this. I know Fred because I treated him when he sliced his hand preparing fish one day.” 

Andrew felt like a fool, but Sandy didn’t seem offended. 

“I wouldn’t take you to a queer bar; I wouldn’t think you’d like it at all, not if you are anything like Laurie, which you must be given he was interested in you at one time.” He sounded very matter-of-fact. 

“Laurie’s never mentioned you,” Andrew ventured. 

“Laurie never really liked me,” explained Sandy. “In fact, I’m not sure he ever even thanked me, although he should have, given it was through me he met Ralph again in Bridstow. While I was still with Alec, of course, we remained in contact.” He could see Andrew’s puzzlement. “Alec was my ex-boyfriend and he and Ralph have been friends for years.” 

There was no affectation, no archness, in his manner. He could be anyone talking about a mutual acquaintance. Andrew remembered the horrid nastiness of the ‘Ralph’ he’d met in Bridstow years ago. Of course, Laurie had set him right about that; he knew Laurie’s Ralph wasn’t _that_ man. But ever since, that had been the image in his mind when he read Laurie’s letters. 

“Are you normal for a ‘queer’?” he blurted out, and then was horrified at himself for doing so. It was hardly a polite question!

But Sandy didn’t seem offended. “And are you normal for a queer?” he asked back. “Are any of us ‘normal’? Is _anyone_ normal?” There was no heat in the way he asked though, in fact he sounded rather philosophical, and a little like that book Laurie had given Andrew years ago. “I am what I am. The difference is I have to be careful about showing what I am - outside being a doctor that is - to most people I know.”

“You’re not like Ralph,” said Andrew.

“No, I’m not,” agreed Sandy, and a hint of arch humour crept in as he added, “despite the fact we are both blond. Neither are you.” 

Andrew looked confused. “Blond?”

Sandy looked closely at him. “Yes, decidedly blond. It’s what struck me most when I learned Laurie had been attracted to you, and working with you at the hospital has only confirmed it: you are very much a younger version of Ralph, you know, and not just in looks. _Both_ of you are all about duty and what is right and proper.” There was a brief pause before Sandy added, “except for the religion, of course. No one could accuse Ralph of being unduly religious. I think he had his fill of the Plymouth Brethren as a boy, so as a man he avoids anything that smacks of church. But you’ve met the man, so you know.”

“No,” said Andrew quietly, Sandy’s words having brought it home, “I never met him.”

“But you said –” 

“I met a man who called himself Ralph but wasn’t.”

“Oh,” said Sandy, “Bunny – you met Bunny. I remember hearing about that. I thought you must have met Ralph _after_ that.”

“I was transferred to London,” a move, Andrew now realised, which had undoubtedly contributed to the difficulty he had had accepting Laurie’s choices, no matter how much relief he felt at the time the transfer was approved. 

“I see,” said Sandy. “No, Bunny was a particularly unpleasant example of the Bridstow scene. One does come across them, just as one comes across stupid, bitchy women who maliciously meddle and interfere with everyone’s lives – often on the parish council or hospital committees, in my experience. It is always wise to try to steer clear of them. You certainly showed excellent judgement _there_. I am not sure, however, that I would describe Bunny as completely typical. Perhaps….” 

Again there was a pause while Sandy pondered his next words thought and Andrew looked at him in wonderment; clearly this man had _thought_ about these things. 

“One of a _type_. Not the type Laurie would ever associate with; not the type Ralph ever _should_. No sensible man would like or want to be with Bunny; but Ralph was definitely under the weather at the time he met Bunny,” Sandy finally finished.

To hear someone he knew must be queer condemn that dapper little man was decidedly reassuring, but Andrew still had doubts. 

“Drinking too much; Laurie’s said as much.” 

Andrew did not like to think of Laurie with a drunkard; it had been part of the choice he really struggled to understand – except Laurie seemed happy. 

“Hmm…yes for a while, though I was referring to him being heartsick more than anything. Ralph’s a sailor and used to being active but his injuries at Dunkirk meant he was beached for a time. That’s a big adjustment for any man, but especially someone who saw himself fighting for his country against the evil of the Nazis. It took him a while but he found his direction again,” Sandy explained. “It’s really no different from what we see every day at the Royal Free.” 

Andrew could see the sense in this, but remained troubled. 

“Will it last, do you think?” 

“Will what last?” asked Sandy.

“Laurie and Ralph. _Can_ it last,” asked Andrew, “when they are two men together and God intended woman for man.”

“I don’t think I can answer for God,” said Sandy quietly, “any more than you. But look at that couple whose engagement we celebrated. They are man and woman; but do you really think that marriage will last because I certainly don’t! Perhaps it was different before the war; perhaps marriages ‘stuck’ more then, though I’m not sure they were always happy and should have lasted. Nowadays, however, it’s pretty bloody obvious the war is throwing people together who should never really _be_ together and who probably won’t _stay_ together till death do us part, regardless of what they swear in church. From where I stand that seems to be the case with a lot of the straight marriages happening these days.” 

As this very much echoed what Andrew had long thought he found himself nodding agreement. 

“Don’t judge the queer community by Bunny,” Sandy said, adding pointedly, “and don’t judge yourself by that either.” 

Andrew looked rather shocked by this and wanted to protest; but Sandy adroitly turned the conversation. A couple of people then joined their table, taking the last two empty chairs in the pub, which had filled up considerably while they had been talking and all opportunity to ask anything further was lost. Soon after, Andrew made his excuses and Sandy agreed he should be leaving too, saying, “I’m on early shift tomorrow morning.” They turned in opposite directions at the pub door. Andrew did not look back.


	3. Chapter 3

Andrew felt like a fish out of water, and wondered why he had come. Not that Sandy was not welcoming; not that the rest of the company were unpleasant. It wasn’t that. Andrew could see the problem was with him, not the party. He was just never that good at social events. He’d got used to work do’s; he’d learned to avoid the pitfalls of romantic entanglements with colleagues who might want something from him that he could not reciprocate. He knew what to do at social events organised through the Meeting House; he tended to make himself useful with refreshments, which kept him safely amongst the middle-aged married women in the kitchen. He just didn’t know the rules for this kind of social occasion. He’d known it would be different. Sandy had been discreet in how he’d phrased it, but had nonetheless made it clear the rest of the group would be queer. Andrew had never been to a queer party before. He’d been curious. 

He sat in one corner nursing a glass of beer while watching Sandy’s guests. That actually was no different from what he normally did at parties where he couldn’t hide in the kitchen. The chair where he sat was beside a small bookshelf containing a selection of medical textbooks interspersed with children’s books. He remembered _Treasure Island_ but wasn’t sure about a few of the other titles. Attracted by the author’s name, he leafed through _Stalky & Co_, amused to catch the reference to beastliness. Had Sandy even read it? He presumed so, or it wouldn’t have shelf-room; but he was a bit surprised. 

“Is it a queer book?” asked a young man who sat down next to him without warning. 

Andrew looked up from the book and blinked in surprise. The young man wore a suit which would have been unexceptionable save it was made of royal blue velvet. Around his neck was an intricately tied silk cravat worthy of an 19th Century dandy. 

“Given Kipling’s well-known disgust of homosexuality? _Hardly._ ” 

“Oh,” said the young man in a deflated tone. 

“Julian, really, don’t you think it is time you tried a different line?” interjected Sandy, laughing. 

“Well, I never!” Julian exclaimed, clearly in a huff, and flounced off. 

“Take no mind of him,” Sandy said. “ _he’s_ harmless.” 

“Aren’t they all?” Andrew asked, startled. 

“By no means,” said Sandy, “though rest assured I haven’t invited any sharks to this party. I kept this to a small, select gathering; and they are all here now so my doorstep duties are over and I can be a better host. Shall I take you on a round of introductions? We can do that while I get you a fresh drink.”

He didn’t wait for an answer but plucked the empty beer glass from Andrew’s hand and stood. Well, he _had_ come to see what it was like, he supposed. Yet it took all his courage to stand up and follow Sandy across the room to the table that had been set up for drinks. 

Two men, slightly older than Sandy, were mixing some sort of punch. They were introduced as Peter and Theo, old friends of Sandy’s from Bridstow who had come to London for the weekend. They looked at him gravely until Sandy explained, “he used to be a friend of Laurie’s,” at which point they obviously relaxed. Far from ‘making the rounds’ to introduce him to everyone as promised, to Andrew’s relief, Sandy left him with Peter and Theo while he flitted off to talk with other guests. They were the only two Andrew cared for the look of. Peter’s uniform declared him in the Air Force and Theo was soberly dressed in grey trousers and an oatmeal coloured cable-knit pullover. They looked like dowdy pigeons compared with the other guests. The blue suit Andrew found gaudy was positively conservative compared with the pink embroidered brocade jacket another man wore. Both were put in the pale by the silver lame gown worn by another. Andrew watched, fascinated, as Sandy wended his way between them all, clearly used to the display. _He_ was doing nothing different from the host or hostess of any party Andrew had ever been to; it was the guests which made this different. 

Someone put on some music and a couple of men started to dance. When foxtrot changed to tango, another pulled Sandy into an embrace which he turned into dance. Andrew stayed close to the punch bowl, silently observing. He knew _he_ would not have managed the rather aggressive ‘invitation’ to dance the way Sandy did - had, in fact, felt somewhat indignant on Sandy’s behalf. But he recognised finesse in the way a potentially awkward situation had been handled and he could not fault the dancing, graceful and perfectly in step with the music as it was. Nonetheless, it felt odd to see two men move together this way. Silently, he admitted to himself at least, that he was not comfortable with the arch little trills of laughter he heard from the dancers and he could feel his polite smile becoming fixed. Perhaps he was less a ‘fish out of water’ than drowning in the deep end of the swimming baths. 

“How did you meet up with Sandy again?” 

The question startled Andrew. Peter and Theo had been quietly talking to one another as they made the punch; but now one stood at one side offering him a glass of the ruby liquid, while the other flanked him from the left. 

“I’m an orderly at the hospital where he works,” Andrew replied. “But it wasn’t really a case of ‘meeting up again’. I only knew him by sight when we were both at the EMS hospital in Bridstow.”

“So then you didn’t really know him when he was with Alec, though you did know Laurie.” Clearly Theo was trying to make sense of the connection. 

“Laurie was a patient at the hospital where I worked. I wasn’t _with_ Laurie,” said Andrew. “I mean…” his voice trailed off, not quite sure what he should say. He _hadn’t_ been with Laurie, if, by that, one meant being in a queer relationship. But, in all honesty (and somehow Andrew felt sure the only way through this was to be ruthlessly honest) he could no longer deny the feelings he hadn’t fully recognised at the time. “…not in the sense you mean,” he finished somewhat lamely. 

“Alec really messed him up,” said Peter sternly. “Sandy – _not_ Laurie. He doesn’t need anything like that again.”

“Oh,” said Andrew, feeling hopelessly out of his depth. 

“He can just be too trusting,” explained Theo, “and Sandy hates quarrels, which makes him a bit too tolerant and forgiving and willing to be nice to everyone; but, really, he’s as soft as butter. Underneath those affectations, he’s a loyal little soul and we love him for it and want him to be happy.” 

Belatedly Andrew realised he was being warned not to hurt Sandy by two friends who thought they were involved. 

“Look, you’ve got it wrong,” he protested. “I just know Sandy from work, and he invited me here because…because….” He really did not know how to finish without being untruthful. He had known this would be a queer party. “I mean, I did know he was queer, but….” Oh, dear.

Hurriedly he gulped down the drink Theo had given him. It burned down his throat: sickly sweet and far too strong – not to his taste at all (rather like this party). And yet the aftertaste was pleasant and it left a warm glow (rather like Sandy, whom he had come to respect over the months he had been at the Royal Free). This Sandy – the one who _showed_ his sexual preferences (unlike the one at hospital who was circumspect) – was not the man Andrew felt he knew. Yet he was the one Theo and Peter knew and they seemed to like him and _he_ warmed to the fact they thought enough of him to warn Andrew against hurting him. Andrew’s thoughts whirled. At one level he had not known what to expect from this party, had told himself that, yet he now realised that that had been pretence on his part. He had come expecting either to be shocked and disgusted or to find his fears completely unfounded. Instead he found himself face to face with an uncomfortable mixture of both. 

“Have another,” murmured Theo, as he took the empty glass from Andrew’s hand substituting it for a full one. Andrew contemplated its deep red. Working where he did he had learned the connotations of this colour. Red was for danger: the red light district round about King’s Cross, the red of blood (bright scarlet when fresh, deep crimson as it dried), fire engine red and the red of warning signs for UXBs. His hand trembled slightly and the red liquid in his glass seemed to wink at him with a wicked eye. 

“It often helps when you’re new to the scene,” murmured Peter beside him. Andrew realised his smile was sympathetic and knowing. Was he really that transparent? 

“I’ve never –” He stopped, abruptly aware he really did _not_ want to finish that sentence. Nor, judging by the look on Theo’s face, was it necessary. Andrew glanced down at the glass in his hand; he’d never been much of a person for spirits. He’d seen too many people use them as an excuse for foolish behaviour they would have done anyway. One should take responsibility for one’s decisions, not blame them on drink. Except, he had made the decision to come here when he was sober. He could _change_ that decision now by leaving early. He normally left early from parties so that would be nothing unusual. But then why come? 

“Drink up,” said Theo encouragingly. “My punch is famous for tasting horrible on the way down but leaving a nice aftertaste – quite the _opposite_ of the medicines they give up at that hospital of yours.”

Andrew up-ended his glass and downed the drink quickly, before looking across to Sandy and catching his eye. The music changed, this time from tango to waltz and Sandy extricated himself from his dancing partner, made his way over, bowed with charm and grace, and held out his hand. 

“May I have this dance?” 


End file.
